


Keeper of the sun

by vermicious_knid



Series: The world turned over [1]
Category: Twelfth Night - Shakespeare
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 19:19:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3393224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vermicious_knid/pseuds/vermicious_knid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some silly bantering stuff that I’d imagine would take place sometime in the first act. It’s mostly fluffy trash but I CANNOT HELP MYSELF. I’m in romantic trashville and the mayor has taken me hostage without means to escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeper of the sun

 

Cesario was walking atop the stone wall of Orsinos castle, an idle day with fewer tasks that had already been accomplished. Illyria was around him, brick houses the colour of chocolate all the way down to the bay. Banners and wash strings hung between them with clothes, dashing shades of emerald, blue and watery red. She could see the fruit stands near the castle selling oranges and ripe figs, the smell of the fish market just far away that the smell was only salty. Noises of builders at work on the new church to the north. Viola sighed and craned her pale neck upwards and closed her eyes. Her short honey colored hair blows softly in the wind. Today she was happy enough to bask in the rarity of spring sunshine.

”What is your quest today, _your Lordship_?” a familiar voice called from the street below, startling her. When she looks down all she sees are the startling whites of his eyes. It is Feste, the court jester. He had been coming and going to Orsinos castle more and more recently. She didn’t miss how he stressed the title. Scuffing her foot against the brick, she decides not to worry about it. Come to think of it, she did not have any new messages for him to deliver. The lovesick duke was remote and withdrawn with his affections today.

“I’m…” she looks around, finds what she wanted to say when she looked up towards the sky. A playful smile finds it’s way onto her lips. She looks down on him from her perch, a mock stern tone to her voice.

“Does your eyes not do a just explanation, Fool? I’m taking the sun for a walk.” She continued her stroll across the wall. It was quiet for a beat, only the sound of the tiny bells strung to his wrists. She opened her eyes and saw that he had climbed up to sit behind her on the stone perch. Sitting like that he reminds her of a gargoyle, dark grin on his face. His grey cap is sitting slightly lopsided on his head, dark curls sticking out.

“What an honor to accept such a task. “ she nods at him before resuming her walk. She holds out her arms for balance, eyes on her feet.

“Indeed. The sun is ever restless and easy to anger – one must be ready to deflect fire and tears of brimstone at a wink.” He steps down to the walkway, following her with those quick feet of his. He gasps dramatically.

“And yet you walk without an umbrella over your head. Are you brave my lord?” she grins and walks with her head tall, imitating grace. “I’m confident enough to think I’m not in need of it.”

“So it isn’t bravery but pride that would save you, should the brimstone descend. _Excellent_ plan.” She gives him a dry sideway glance, pretending to be hurt.

“Are you calling me a snob, Sir Fool? Then I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood me completely.” They are not really allowed to call preformers or people of low class by this title, even as a joke. Another strange rule of Illyria. It is something she calls him when it’s just the two of them. But she doesn’t think Orsino would mind if he knew. Feste gives her a look as if she is the fool and not him.

“Of course I have – that’s why they say I’m a fool and not a clever man who can touch the sun without being burned. “

“I’m simply saying that if fire should burn then let it do what it does best. In any case, I think I could convince it not to.”

“Now it is _you_ fooling _me_. Perhaps you should assign this task to someone made of less than flesh and more of hollow twigs?” he says, gesturing to himself. She stretches out one slim leg and wiggles it around for him to see. He seems oddly fascinated by it. She realizes belatedly that maybe she is revealing something this way and ceases the action at once.

“…Which is why I’m such a good keeper and companion already.” She quips.

“Ah! But you are more but hollow, and the keeper of something else at that.” She looks at him with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out what he knows. He sees it and throws his head to the side, sighs with frustration.

“oh, now it is you misunderstanding me I fear. “

“How so?” 

“Is it so difficult to accept a compliment today, but you so easily accept them from yourself?” Either he is sincere or he is pretending not to know. It doesn’t occur to her that maybe it is both.

“ _You_ complimenting _me_ means that you are in want of something, there cannot be any more truth to it than that. “ She says decidedly. He doesn't argue and merely shrugs his shoulders. 

“Well then it must be so. Here, let me take the leach from you so we can share this burden.”

She hands over an imaginary string. He looks skyward and seems to have a silent conversation there, before tugging at the string and moving on. She nearly stumbles for a moment and he holds out his hand for her. She takes it. It reminds her of her early days as a woman at court, accepting a dance.

“Well Sir Fool, I expect there is word from Olivia?”

“Nothing that is new since yesterday. “

“And the day before that?”

“And the day before that, my liege.” She looks at him, puzzled.

“So to what purpose do I owe this grand visit? Boredom?”

“I simply came to speak to the keeper of the sun. One should perhaps supervise such tasks more closely, lest the keeper should come to any harm.” the look in his eyes tugs at her stomach unexpectedly. Dangerous. He drops her hand and she fidgets where she stands on the wall.

“Maybe one could take turns, moving the day from one to the next.” She says quietly, faint blush on her cheeks. He stares at her and says nothing.

A trumpet blows from inside the castle. Cesario is being asked for. But instead of sprinting towards the sound, joy at seeing the duke, she deflates and feels disappointed. So overcome with it, she almost misses what Feste does to her palm. He kisses it. His eyes which are usually always watching are closed. It means that whatever this is, it is not a game.

“From one to the next.” He whispers, and then he is gone.


End file.
